Their plan was brilliant,
  their tactics cunning,
  but then came a twist,
  they never saw coming.
Odds are, you won't either.

In TWIST AND TURN, author Tim Tigner once again delivers a fast-paced, unpredictable ride destined to delight his fans. Replete with the clever characters, original intrigue and thought-provoking predicaments that distinguish his thrillers, the fourth chapter of the international bestselling Kyle Achilles series will turn your throat dry and keep your fingers flipping.

At the center of the action is a — well, we don’t want to spoil it.

And then there’s the — oh, best not to mention that either.

Suffice it to say that the villains are fresh, complex and fascinating. Their plots inventive and scary. But Katya is back at Achilles’ side, so we might not need to worry. Unless . . .


PART 1: TWIST

Was I dead? Had I died? If this was the afterlife, I’d been judged lacking. Less than sufficient, or sub-saintly at least.

I had killed. Violated the sixth commandment on more than one occasion. So I shouldn’t be surprised.

But I was.

I guess I’d expected an exception. A pass. A nod. My kills had been righteous, after all. For the greater good. I’d dedicated much of my life to fighting the honorable fight. The battle where the good had to do bad to win.

And Katya. Poor Katya. Alone again. I’d failed her … somehow.

These thoughts all raced around my mind, bouncing off the walls and sending reverberations through my soul, in two sticky blinks of the eye. My eyes continued blinking as my other senses shucked off slumber and attempted to tune in to the waking world.

A new world.

A world like none I’d known before.

My eyes got nowhere. Literally nowhere. They funneled no information through my optical nerves and into my brain. They didn’t hurt, didn’t feel different. They just reported black, like a television without power.

Was that it? Had someone or something chemically pulled the plug? Severed a connection? As logical as that seemed, my mind didn’t buy-in. It took a different turn because my ears were also off-kilter.

Strain as I might, I heard nothing beyond my own biology—and the breathing of others. Not a sound. No passing cars or chirping crickets. No humming appliances or rustling leaves. Beyond the breathing, my auditory world was also dead. But the breathing was enough, enough to know that my system was on-line, while somehow, some way, the rest of the world was off.

KEEP READING

My nose reported next, and it flooded my flummoxed brain with joy. Katya’s hair was nearby. The otherwise stale air held a familiar, fresh, floral scent that never failed to warm my heart and lift my mood.

As I prepared to reach out, my kinesthetic awareness kicked in. I lay in a three-quarters prone position, with my legs bent and interlocked and my head braced by both arms. It was close to a standard sleeping posture, but a bit too awkward and precise to be casual. The alignment even had a name.

Recovery position was used by medical professionals and knowledgable laymen to prevent unnaturally-unconscious people from choking due to a closed or obstructed airway. The ensuing conclusion was inescapable. Like a piece of furniture, I had been arranged.

I reached slowly toward the scent, at once eager and hesitant, longing yet fearful of what I might find. I felt nothing. Nothing but thin air, rising adrenaline and a dropping stomach.

Propping myself up onto an elbow, I became aware that I was lying on a floor rather than a mattress. A hardwood floor. I added that fact to the astounding array of puzzle pieces I’d been sorting in the seconds since first opening my eyes.

I’m not sure why we strive to be quiet in silent situations. Probably residual programming in the lizard brain, written to keep us safe at night. In any case, I found myself in full silent mode as I extended my hand further toward the scent of Katya’s shampoo.

My fingertips found their reward a few inches later. Silky soft strands with a slight curl. My heart leapt as I slid my body closer. Her body was warm, her chest rising, her heart beating. She, too, had been situated in the recovery position. “Katya,” I whispered, directly into her ear. “Katya, wake up.”

There is, perhaps, no more contented feeling than lying beside the woman you love and burying your nose in her hair. Despite the extreme and alarming circumstances, now that I knew my love was safe at my side, that simple act put me at peace.

I had no idea where we were.

I had no idea how we’d gotten there.

But by her side was where I wanted to be, and so the rest was reduced to the status of details. For the moment at least.

As I whispered, I became aware of something tucked into my cheek. Something small, circular and metallic. I carefully expelled it into my hand and instantly identified the familiar object. I’d studied it often in the preceding weeks, with a smile on my face and a swelling in my heart.

It was Katya’s engagement ring. Or at least, it was going to be. I hadn’t actually given it to her. Hadn’t quite proposed. I didn’t think.

The last thing I remembered before waking up in the black was reaching for that ring. That overpriced piece of metal and stone that would symbolized our union—if she agreed to make me the luckiest man alive.

I’d put my hand into my pocket while preparing to drop to one knee—and found it missing. Panic had shocked me like a Taser strike, a horrible, all-consuming, visceral pain and then … nothing. My memory ended there like a cut comic strip.

Somehow in the span since that unfortunate event, we ended up in the deathly darkness that now enveloped us, and rather than onto her finger, the ring found its way into my mouth.



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"Absolutely the best series I ever read.”

"Best author in the genre.”

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